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They stand within the shadow, newly healed lands still etched with traces of a long-standing curse. Elminster's cursed words swirling violently in his brain, Gale stops. Stares into the encompassing dark, face blank but eyes widened in fear.
She stops too as soon as she feels the pull of Gale's too-familiar warmth grow cold. She saunters toward him slowly, concerned hand outstretched to brush against his cheek. He does not flinch, does not even move at the contact. Her concern grows. 'Gale? Are you alright?'
He blinks from his trance, fear still brazen on his face when his eyes focus on her, but his shaking hand slowly reaches up to capture hers. 'I-'
He's at a loss for words. Never, in all the time she'd known him, has he ever failed to recite such pretty poetry out of the simple and mundane. Fear strikes her in the chest. 'What's wrong, my love?'
Gale swallows, gulps, eyes shifting nervously to Wyll and Karlach, both of whom share expressions with his light. Carefully, he drops their hands to his side but does not let go. Urges her forward, and without question, she follows. He leads them further out toward the dark, out of earshot of more people he'd have to fall apart in front of when there was still so much at stake, for everyone. It's not until he's sure they're where their companions won't follow that he turns, staring up at her fiery yellow orbs that used to carry such warmth against the bitter cold, a brilliant light in the darkest shadows inside him, but now he only sees the dark.
'I don't want to die.'
Avalanches erupt, the earth quakes as he says the words. He feels himself falling, crumbling to the shattered earth, and he feels too as she grips him tightly to her chest. Pulls him as far into her warmth as she can and she is speaking, her hands are squeezing so eloquently against his arms, fingers tangling in his hair, soft, warm lips fused to the crown of his head but still, he cannot hear her words. He cannot seem to let her warmth overpower the icy dread lying permanently in his core.
He's lived such a privileged life. He's seen things, felt things, loved things mortals like him could only dream of. He was once sure that he had everything, when he was foolish enough to believe he knew what everything meant.
And he had spoiled it all of his own making. Doomed himself to an existence of nothing. Fitting punishment for such a fool, he thinks. But, in spite of it all...
His head shifts, he peers up at her face. The freckles adorning her tanned cheeks, riding along the bridge of her nose. The sharp, angular jaw that travels down to her perfect, round lips that house the most beautiful of smiles. The way she can speak to him, without saying a word, when their eyes meet. The perfect sculpture of her lithe hands, as they trace lines against his body, his face in the early morning. Now holding onto him, firm and strong and so delicate all the same. Even the tears now trapped in the waterline of her vibrant eyes made her stunning, made her..more.
He cannot lose her, he thinks, selfishly. Desperately.
"Everything." Everything is what she is.
'I don't want to die,' he says again, repeats in a mantra as he stares at her, watches her own tears fall down her perfect face as she shifts just slightly to allow room for Wyll, who wordlessly presses a vial to Gale's mouth and forces him to sip. The familiar taste of a sleeping draught litters his tongue as it continues to chant his oath.
He feels her squeeze against his hand that slowly slacks as the draught starts to take effect. Heavy eyes find hers again, and she's smiling, even through the tears staining her cheeks and the fear a permanent resident in her expression, she's smiling and it's all he sees.
'I will not let you,' she humms, petting the side of his face as he sinks further into the bliss of sleep, as he feels himself lifted carefully into Karlach's arms. 'You do not get to leave me, Gale of Waterdeep.'
~*~
His consciousness swims to the surface to the sound of shuffling, and a weight holding down his left hand. He opens his eyes to see tufts of pure white hair, and red eyes that soon find his gaze. An almost motherly tut falls from the pale elf's lips as he stands from his chair in the corner of the tent Gale soon recognizes as her tent. He watches as Astarion saunters over and crouches down to Gale's eye-level, holding a flask of water that immediately makes Gale's mouth dry as a desert. He moves to take it, but the weight on his hand suddenly makes a huff of disapproval.
He looks to his left and sees her, a disapproving look on her face even in her sleep as she unconsciously secures her grasp on his hand again. A fond smile stretches across Gale's lips, and the vestiges of the tears he'd shed begin to sparkle as he watches her face soothe when he does not move his hand back.
'You worried our fearless leader half to death, wizard,' Astarion's melodic voice startles Gale from his trance. He looks back over to Astarion to see his red eyes shift to her, a surprising look of fondness washing over his features. ' It's as impressive as it is..sweet. But you are aging her far too fast.'
Gale clears his throat, groaning at the scratchy feeling. 'Apologies,' he tries through a dry cough. Astarion rolls his eyes, holding the flask out for Gale's free hand to snatch greedily.
Astarion watches him gulp up the water like it was a matter of life-or-death, unmoving but red eyes looking lost in thought. It surprises Gale, he realizes as his mind begins to wake with him, that Astarion hasn't already left. They weren't loathe to be in each other's company per say, but they certainly weren't friends. He finishes the flask, making a short whistle to wake Astarion from his reverie as he holds the flask back out to him. Red eyes refocus, body shifting backwards like he was expecting a knife at his stomach, but eventually, a cold hand climbs over his fingers as the elf takes the flask back from him. He stands to put the flask back in his pack, and just as Gale was sure Astarion would finally leave, Astarion sits back in his chair. He pulls it further forward, resting his elbows on his knees and concentrating on Gale.
Gale shifts uneasily, swallowing the uncomfortable lump in his throat and squeezing her hand, like it would all but send him to the safest reaches of Faerun to escape the elf's gaze. A sleepy hum and a squeeze follow, and he supposes that will have to do.
'Are you falling madly in love with me?' He quips, though his voice drips with uncertainty.
Astarion almost smiles, his head tilting to the side as he kicks his feet out in front of him. 'I thought you prided yourself on your intelligence.'
Gale, taken aback, scrunches his face in confusion at the comment. 'My?'
'Alas, only a complete and utter moron would think suicide was a preferable option.' His voice is devoid of humor now, a somberness that ices Gale's bones as red eyes stare intently into the very soul of Gale. 'I thought I owed something to him, you know? Cazador. He'd saved me. He cared about me when it felt like none other did. Gave me all I wanted, gave me life again.' Astarion stops, stares at an area somewhere above Gale's head, and then sighs. 'But then he demanded more. More and more of me until there was nothing left of whoever I used to be. And I let him. For years, I let him change me into someone I could not recognize. I regret that it took me so long to see it.'
Gale blinks, the air suffocating. 'See what?'
'I owed him nothing.' Astarion practically spits, and his focus is once again on Gale and only Gale. 'You are far too important to sacrifice yourself to a Goddess who doesn't love you, Gale.' Red eyes move to the figure beside him. 'You have everything you need right here, and you're willing to throw that away for a Goddess who demands more out of you than any sane person should be willing to give, just for a mere chance of forgiveness? Because you believe She's owed? What is that worth, for someone who'd far rather you bow to them than stand beside them?' Astarion stands then, crossing his arms across his chest and narrowing his eyes strategically at Gale. 'You are not stupid, Gale, and you are far from helpless. Do not make me regret knowing you.'
With that, the elf is gone, and Gale is left alone with nothing but the heavy breathing of her next to him and her warmth possessing his form.
He looks past the tent flap, sees the silhouettes of their raga bond gang of desperates huddled around the fire, a form that looks a bit like Shadowheart carrying a bowl of stew closer to the tent opening.
He sighs, because he knows the stew will taste like utter shit if not made by him, but smiles anyway.
He looks back at her, smile growing as he squeezes her hand.
He does not want to die.
But with the others at his side, with her at his side, he begins to think for the first time since this curse became a part of him that maybe, maybe he doesn't have to.